Harry Potter and Uncle Crimbo's Gift
by guubear
Summary: After hearing the prophecy from Dumbledore, Harry decided to something drastic - go to other people for help! A parody of Powerful/Independent/Dark/Grey/Vampire/Werewolf/Veela/Azkaban/Time-Travel/What-Have-You!Harry fic. Mild crossover. Rated C for Crack.
1. Prologue: Journey's Beginning

Harry Potter and Uncle Crimbo's Gift

By Guubear

Prologue: Journey's Beginning

…_either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…_

Harry Potter was still seething silently on his way out of the infirmary after paying a visit to his wounded friends. Having just been told by the Headmaster not an hour ago that he was fated to either murder, or be murdered by his parents' killer, he felt like he had a right to be indignant at the absurdity of it all.

"WELL SO BE IT!" Harry let out an outburst and spun on his heels. Instead of heading back to his dormitory to sulk on his own like an average angsty white teen male - also, he should probably scrap the idea of cutting himself while listening to Linkin Park or Evanescence, but hey, getting a magical tattoo in memory of his dear dead godfather still sounded like a great idea in his head - he decided he should grab Fate by its ginormous horns and spank it like a Biatch with capital B.

His insane cackles reverberated ominously in the empty hallway as he headed toward the Divination Tower.

* * *

Harry caught his old Divination teacher in the middle of her drinking binge. Judging by the heap of empty Sherry bottles on floor, she had been at it first thing in the morning.

"Hullo, _-hic-_ stranger." Sybil Trelawney greeted Harry with a brilliant smile while swaying drunkenly like Jack Sparrow on rum.

It doesn't matter who Jack Sparrow is, it has nothing to do with this story. Moving on.

Harry picked up an upturned chair and sat down in front of the drunk. "I need your help."

Trelawney gave the boy a double take and slowly put down the Sherry bottle she had been nursing all morning.

Harry elaborated. "I need you, who have the Inner Sight, to help me on my quest to spank Fate like a two-sickle crack ho high on potions until it calls me its daddy. Repeatedly." Harry paused for a moment and added, "And then I'll spank it some more. Just for kicks."

"And you want my help _-hic-_ how, exactly?"

"By doing what you do best," Harry pointed at a deck of Tarot cards sitting on the window silt casually. "Tell me my fortunes."

* * *

"I see… A journey. Yes." Trelawney said slowly, clearing her throat a few times. "Pardon me my raspy voice. It seems I've caught a bad cold since last night." She closed her eyes and waved her shaky hands over the spread of Tarot cards Harry had picked off the deck. "The Chariot. See the wheely thing? A journey, I say!"

"O…K."

"The Wheel of Fortune, aha! Just as I see. The wheely thing again! You must go on a journey, a noble quest to spank Fate like a two-sickle crack ho high on potions until it calls you its daddy. Repeatedly." Trelawney paused for a moment and added, "and then you'll spank it some more. Just for kicks."

"Er… Good to know."

Trelawney flipped over another card. "The Fortitude. Hmm… I see. You shall gain strength on your journey. Probably learning a dozen different styles of muggle martial arts and what have you. The Japanese samurai sword – katana, I believe- sounds just like the weapon of choice, naturally. A firearm is just not badass enough."

Harry blinked stupidly at the woman who called herself a seer.

She flipped over the next card and gasped, "Oh my! The Magician! You shall gain great magical power too! Like mastering a legendary wand and learn to cast wordlessly and wandlessly despite having mastered a legendary wand. Oh, oh! And also, you shall learn powerful and obscure spells from a mythological civilization, probably Atlantis or something equally wonderful. And you shall learn how to become an animagus. And the said animagus form shall be so powerful, it's a magical form! And your Patronus shall change to a more impressive form than a common non-magical animal, like, say, a stag or something."

Harry was sure someone had put this woman up to prank him. Was it the Weasley twins? It had to be the Weasley twins!

Trelawney continued, "The Fool. Interesting. It is obvious now, that in order to spank Fate like a two-sickle crack ho high on potions until it calls you its daddy, repeatedly, and then you'll spank it some more, just for kicks, you'll need a obscene amount of wealth to achieve it. And by Merlin's hairy left nut, you shall have it - by possessing a ridiculous amount of sheer dumb luck!" She thought for a moment and added more as an after thought. "Oh, and by inheriting it from all your dead ancestors combine without having to exert any amount of effort for it, or by being polite to the right Goblin, probably the current king of the Goblin nation, so that the entire race like so much, they'll willing become your sugar daddy, giving you Goblin training and all that. Or something similar to that effect. Take your pick."

Harry was starting to think it took a severe lapse of judgment for him to come to this fraud for help. Look at the bright side; at least she was not foretelling his doom this time. It had to be some kind of improvement.

**An hour later…**

"… And Uncle Crimbo shall give you a priceless gift to compensate for the last 15 years of torment and suffering. You shall find it inside an old forgotten sock at the bottom of your school trunk." Trelawney put down the last card, The World, on the desk. She gestured dramatically at our zoned out hero and gave him her final advice. "Go on, find Uncle Crimbo's gift inside an old forgotten sock at the bottom of your school trunk now, and be on your quest to spank Fate like a two-sickle crack ho high on potions until it calls you its daddy. Repeatedly."

Harry hurrily stood up and left.

Trelawney said to Harry's retreating form in a low, booming voice, "And then you shall spank it some more! Just for kicks! For kicks, I say!"

* * *

Harry stared down dumbly at the yellow piece of parchment in his hand. All logical thought had escaped him at the moment.

~-~-~-~

_Dear Harry,_

_To compensate for the last 15 years of torment and suffering, I hereby grant you a priceless gift. The incantation is '_Consentio Foramen'_. _

_Use it well._

_Love,_

_Uncle Crimbo_

~-~-~-~

After Harry finally came back to his senses, he shrugged and set the piece of parchment on fire with a flick of his wand. Trust the Weasley twins to put up such an elaborate prank. Harry considered for a few seconds, and shrugged to himself again. Hey, what can go wrong?

"_Consentio Foramen_."

And the journey's begun.

* * *

A/N: Hi all. Me is back. Blame Rorschach's Blot for this. His stories brought my Muse back to life. FYI, 'Consentio Foramen' is pig Latin for 'Plot Hole.'


	2. Legendary Wand

Chapter 1: Legendary Wand

"_Consentio Foramen_."

With the incantation, the ground beneath Harry's feet simply vanished, replacing itself with a pit just wide enough for him to fall through. It was fair to say that the effect of the spell had caught our hero completely by surprise, if the girly scream he let out was evidence enough.

A man with a full, red beard raised a bushy eyebrow curiously as a black hole suddenly materialized (if a hole can materialize… Is that oxymoron?) in front of him, and a scrawny-looking young man with unruly black hair fell out of the hole. Face first.

Harry plopped down on the floor with all the elegance of a PMSing troll. He distinctively remembered that he fell through some kind of pit feet first. How he ended up falling out of said pit head first meant only one thing…

"Merlin! I'm in China!"

"Not quite," said the red-bearded man who witnessed the whole thing. "Welcome to Atlantis."

Harry picked himself up from the floor to stare at the man like he needed to check his head for blunt force trauma.

"Just kidding. Man, you're gullible. You should see the look on your face!" The man grinned broadly at his own joke. "Welcome to Antarctica. By the way, aren't you cold?"

Harry gave him a wry look before quickly putting on the thick fur cape the stranger offered. Wearing Dudly's old baggy T-shirt and ill-fitted jeans was as good as wearing nothing at all in this bitter cold. "Thanks. Now could you kindly inform me where exactly I am, please?"

"Well, this is my humble little magic shop, Seals and More. I sell all sorts of bling, mostly to tourists. Oh, where are my manners?" The man extended a hand toward Harry. "Name is Sealclubber. Steve Sealclubber. And you are?"

"Harry… Just Harry." Harry shook the man's hand, secretly glad that this Steve person didn't flinch or gawk at him like most people did back in Wizarding Britain.

Sealclubber nodded. "Funny last name you have, Mr. Hairy, but who am I to judge? You mind if I go by your first name?"

"O…K?"

"Now, Joss, how did you get here and how may I help you?"

Harry blinked a few times and mentally shrugged. It was wonderfully refreshing to be treated as a normal person, not as the Boy-Who-Lived nonsense. "I was pranked by a couple of friends into trying out a bogus spell. The next thing I knew, I fell and ended up here.… Oh No! Where is my wand!" Harry panicked and started looking around frantically, hoping he only dropped it when he landed. To his great dismay, he could not find his wand anywhere.

"Maybe you lost it when you tumbled through the pit?" Sealclubber suggested helpfully.

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation at the stupid situation he got himself into. "I'm going to curse them into next Tuesday! Argh! I can't believe I lost my wand because of their prank! This is just… great. For a moment there, they actually made me believe that I got a gift from Uncle Crimbo. You are right, I am gullible." He muttered darkly.

Hell, his naivety had to be criminal! First he got his godfather killed because he believed in a bloody dream, and now he lost his wand because he believed in a bloody note signed by Uncle Crimbo! What kind of stupid name is Uncle Crimbo anyway? It's probably some kind of anagram for 'I am Lord Shitbrain.'

"Uncle Crimbo!" Sealclubber gasped.

"Yeah, can you believe that? According to the note, I was granted a gift from Uncle Crimbo to compensate for 15 years of torment and suffering. Isn't that just rich?"

Sealclubber agreed. "That was a very generous gift, Joss, with a personal note signed by him, no less. It was a great honour."

Harry had a feeling he was being pranked again.

"Tell you what, my shop just so happens to carry a great variety of nifty items. Wands are one of them. Pick one, and I'll sell it to you at a deep discount."

"Er…" Harry searched his pockets and fished out the fake Galleon made by Hermione for the DA business. "Sorry, mate. This is all I have with me. It's not even a real Galleon."

"It'll do." Sealclubber smiled cheerily and took the fake Galleon. "You've shopped for a wand before, right? So you should know how it goes. Pick one off the rack and give it a wave. Which ever one feels the best in your hand is the one you want."

Harry spent the next half an hour waving various wands and making a mess of the poor guy's shop in general. Not one wand in this shop seemed to work right.

"Curious. Very curious." Sealclubber said as he gestured Harry to stay there as he dodge into the backroom to look for something.

Harry scowled at the man for pulling an Ollivander on him.

Sealclubber came back moments later with a leather pouch tucked under his arm. He opened the pouch and pulled out a stubby pink club the size of a police truncheon and shoved the obscene-looking object into Harry's hand. "Now give it a wave. Go on."

Too dumbfounded to voice his disgust, Harry followed the man's instruction in a daze. He then almost dropped the phallus, um, wand, in shock when it warmed up, vibrated pleasantly, and shot out a copious amount of brilliant white sparks.

"Excellent! That's what I call a perfect fit. Congratulation! The legendary Boner Wand has chosen you." Sealclubber exclaimed in great delight.

"Excuse me?"

"The legendary Boner Wand," Sealclubber gestured at the pink throbbing phallic wand, as he explained, "Is made from the baculum of the now extinct Atlantis Blue Whale."

"Baculum?"

"Os penis? The penile bone? The steel inside the velvet? The bone in the boner? Need I explain more?"

"No, thank you. I think I got it."

"Like I said, this Boner Wand is legendary because it was an artifact made by the Atlantians. Not unlike the Elder Wand of the Deathly Hallows, the Boner Wand has many names. Maybe you've heard of the Disco Stick? No?" Sealclubber looked somewhat disappointed when Harry shook his head vigorously in denial.

"Um, just out of curiosity, is it possible if I could get a different wand instead of this… Boner Wand?"

"Nope."

"I thought so." Harry said dryly. "Dare I ask what the core of this wand is?"

"You are holding it."

Harry looked at Sealclubber expectedly. The shop owner elaborated, "The Boner Wand is not like any other wand. The wand itself is made entirely of a wand core, if you catch my drift." Sealclubber made a gesture at his crotch, and said, "It is made from the **core** inside of a **wand**. So it doesn't need another core. "

"… I see."

"Besides, the core of this wand is so massive, it doesn't need an extra layer of wood as padding to give the wand a nice, meaty girth."

"…"

"Any other questions?"

"Yes, actually," Harry asked hopefully. "Is there any way for me to go back to England? Floo? Portkey? Side-along Apparition? Flying carpet? Broom? Anything?"

Sealclubber shook his head. "Apparition and floo are not designed to travel half way across the earth, and you must be suicidal to consider riding on a flying carpet or a broom in this cold. Portkey is the only way to go… and that will be 11 galleons, please."

Harry gave the man a dirty look. "Can I not keep this… legendary wand, and take that portkey instead?"

"Nope."

"I thought so." Harry gritted his teeth. "You bloody know I don't have any money on me. What do you want me to do? Walk?"

"Well, how did you get here in the first place? That's how you'll get back, naturally."

"…"

"Anything else?" Sealclubber was trying to be very helpful.

Harry thought for a moment, and asked desperately like a drowning man grabbing at a straw. "Does this… wand come with a wand holster? It's… inconvenient to walk around holding this… wand in my hand."

"Simple. Cast an expanding charm in your pocket and keep that bad boy in it. Of course, you don't have to cast the charm at all. I know some people enjoy having a manly bulge in their pants. If you don't mind having a hot, throbbing phallic-shape thingy rub against your crotch, that is. On the other hand, if you keep it in your back pocket instead of your side pocket, it'll be rubbing against your bum. I suppose some people prefer that."

"… I hate you."

* * *

Back in Hogwarts, the many complex silver instruments that should have gone off the moment Harry fell through the Plot Hole, did not. They were broken by Harry himself earlier that morning and the Headmaster had not had the time to repair them yet.

* * *

A/N: Isn't that wand legendary?


	3. Travel Essentials

Chapter 2: Travel Essentials

Suffice to say, it was not nearly as surprising when the ground underneath Harry's feet turned into a pit this time. His scream was a lot more masculine.

However, he landed on his face again. Pity.

Harry smothered a curse and picked himself up from the floor the second time today. Somehow, instead of going back to Hogwarts, he had managed to land in another seedy place. Face first. Again.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Harry scanned his surroundings carefully to get an idea where the Plot Hole had led him. This time his wayward spell brought him to some sort of magical leather shop, judging by the pungent smell of raw dragon hide. Also, behind the counter, there was an elderly woman (who had to be at least as old as Dumbledore) in an fluffy mauve-coloured dress, a green pointy hat with a bejeweled Scarab beetle fixed at the wide-brimmed rim as decoration, a dead raccoon around her neck, and was currently petting a taxidermy black cat while reading a wizarding newspaper. If she were not a witch, she had to have a dead animal fetish or some other kinky habits Harry did not care to know about.

The stuffed (or Harry thought) black cat turned and meowed at him.

"Oh my, when did you get in here? I didn't hear the bell," said the elderly witch. She put the paper down on the counter and took off her reading glasses to give our hero a benign smile. "My ears are not working so well these days. Let me know if there is anything you need."

"Um, excuse me ma'am," Harry said apologetically, "I'm a little bit lost. Would you mind telling me where exactly I am?"

The old lady chuckled warmly at him. "You are at my shop, Sabrina's Leathery Sacs. Feel free to take a good look at my baggage."

Harry rapidly turned a nasty shade of green. He desperately hoped he was the one with a bad hearing problem. "No, thank you," He said quickly. He could've lived his whole life without being offered by a wrinkly old crone to show him her leathery sacs.

The woman gave our hero a disappointed look. "Are you sure? My shop is one of the oldest and most reputable around town. In fact, this is the only shop in Moscow where you can find magical baggage made from genuine dragon hide."

"No, really. Thank you. I have no money with me anyway… Hold on. Did you just say 'Moscow'?"

The old lady frowned at Harry's question and nodded. "Yes, of course."

"But we are talking in English."

"Of course we are. I was born and raised in Westbridge, Massachusetts."

Harry wanted to bang his head against something hard now. Maybe if he were to crack open his skull, some of his frustration could finally find release from the gaping, gory hole in his head. That witch had to be senile! "I thought we were in Russia now. Why did you speak English to me? You couldn't have known I was from England!"

"Just because I opened up a shop in Russia, it doesn't mean I must speak Russian. This is my shop, and I can speak any language I bloody want!" She exclaimed loudly, a little ticked off by Harry's attitude. "Now, if you are not going to **v**uy anything, you are **v**elcome to leave my **v**onderful **v**aggage shop." She declared pompously with a mock Russian accent just to annoy Harry.

Harry felt bad. He did have a stressful day, but it was no excuse to behave like a complete twat to a stranger. "Look, I didn't mean to be a prick. I just… I just had a bad day. I'm leaving now. Sorry to bother you."

"Wait!"

Harry halted and turned back at the old lady with a stunned look. She had caught his cape with a trembling hand and prevented him from leaving. He was not aware people that old could move this fast. He could've sworn the wrinkly old crone just leaped over the counter with a war cry that rivaled Xena the Warrior Princess, tumbled across the length of the shop, and snatched a fist-full of his cape so fast she seemed but a blur.

"It can't be… Is this, is this _genuine_?" The old lady breathed in awe as she examined the black fur cape Harry got from Steve Sealclubber.

Harry just realized he forgot to return the cape Sealclubber lent him before he Plot Hole'd himself away from Antarctica. "I'm not sure what you are talking about. Someone lent me this cape in a souvenir shop in Antarctica. I should probably give it back to him next time I see him."

"It is genuine Manbearpig Seal fur found only in Antarctica! Sweet Bejesus! Whoever gave you this cape must have spent a fortune on it!" Sabrina the Century-old Witch squealed. She was so happy, she practically purred into the soft black fur as she rubbed her wrinkly cheeks against it.

Too bad Harry was still in it.

"Oh boy!" The old witch exclaimed excitedly when she felt that there was something hard poking at her face underneath the young man's black fur cape. Curious, she reached under the cape and grabbed a hold of Harry's thick, stiff wand that was half sticking out of his side pocket. "Is that a wand hanging off your hip or are you happy to see me?"

Harry did the only thing an average emo white kid could do in this situation – he shoved the old crone away from him and scrambled backward on all fours while sobbing for his mommy. As he huddled himself in a dusty corner of the shop, rocking back and forth while contemplating cutting himself, he vowed that he shall cast a memory charm on himself to wipe away the last five minutes of his tragic life as soon as he found out how.

He may never get an erection ever again.

Holding Harry's Boner Wand in one hand and his furry black cape in another (Harry had tossed the offending piece of clothing off himself during the struggle), the ancient witch giggled at the traumatized youth's antic. "Young people nowadays should really practice wand safety. Someone should teach you all about protection and accident prevention. You may poke someone's eye out if you leave it sticking out of your pants."

"Please stop… Kill me now… Have mercy…" Our hero sobbed pitifully.

"Tell you what, let me propose a trade." The old witch ignored Harry's mournful tears and took out a small leather pouch from the only glass display case in the shop. "I'll give you this pouch, the best and rarest item in my shop. In exchange, I get to keep this cape. You can use this bottomless, weightless, and multi-purpose magic pouch to store all your stuff, such as your wand. You would be hard pressed to find a wand holster big enough to accommodate your thick, long, meaty wand."

Harry kept on weeping. He did not need to hear her compliments on his wand's girth.

Sabrina the Century-old Witch continued, "Conveniently, this pouch comes with a leather belt, so you can wear this like a fanny pack." The elderly woman strapped the pouch on her waist and demonstrated to the near comatose young man how useful this magical baggage was. She flipped open the front flap of the pouch and dropped Harry's wand into it. "All you need to do is put your hand into the pouch, think of the item you want to retrieve, and you'll get it back." She thrust her hand into the pouch and groped for a moment before fishing out the wand. "See?"

Harry wailed in agony. The imagery of that dried up old crone grabbing the Disco Stick out of the pouch strapped in front of her crotch was enough to cause acute, physical pain.

The old lady went on and explained the background story of the magic pouch. "This pouch may seem small, but it's extremely useful. Because of its great storing capacity, this pouch is known as the Bag of Infinite Holding…" She paused and corrected herself, "Sorry, I mean, **V**ag of Infinite Holding. That's how they say it in Russian."

Harry may not know anything about the language, but he knew the old witch was doing that just to torment him.

"Bag of Infinite Holding." Harry repeated tonelessly.

"Yes. It's the **V**ag of Infinite Holding."

Harry sighed. His godfather died, he heard the prophecy, he lost his wand, he became the master of the legendary Boner Wand, and now he was about to become the proud owner of the Vag of Infinite Holding. Great. Just great. Can this day get any more tragic?

"Fine. The cape is yours. Just… stop talking."

Sabrina the Century-old Witch beamed wordlessly and handed him his stuff back.

Harry strapped on the belt and put his pink Boner in the leathery Vag. He wanted, no, _needed_ to go back to Hogwarts now. He had a few people he needed to kill, like the Weasley twins for pulling this bloody prank, and that fraud of a Seer Trelawney.

Naturally, the Plot Hole decided to drop our hero anywhere else but Hogwarts.

* * *

A/N: So there you go, Vag of Infinite Holding. True story. There was one time, I was playing D&D with my friends…


	4. Does it look infected to you?

Chapter 3: Does it look infected to you?

Harry landed on his butt. As far as falling on one's rear end goes, it was surprisingly less painful than one might expect. Something soft and bouncy had cushioned his behind, so that was a marked improvement comparing to prior experiences.

Our hero looked around curiously to get his bearing. The wayward spell had dropped him down in the middle of a green, luscious countryside. After his unplanned trips to the Antarctica and Moscow, it was a welcoming change to see the blue sky and warm sunlight again.

"Greetings," a high-pitched voice called out nervously from behind him. Harry looked over his shoulders and saw a small crowd of garden gnomes eyeing him with apparent awe. A wrinkly female gnome wearing a white pointy hat braved herself to take a couple steps toward Harry and spoke again. "Thank you, wonderful wizard. We are most grateful for your noble deed. You've set us free from the atrocity that was the Nasty Gnome of the East."

Harry blinked at the elderly gnome. "I'm pretty sure I haven't killed anyone yet. Well, there was this DADA teacher, but all I did was touching his face and he sort of disintegrated on his own."

There was also Voldemort, but zombie snakeface did not count. Besides, he was not completely dead yet.

"Your butt did. Squashed her flat as a pancake." The gnome with the white pointy hat said, pointing at the squishy cushion that broke Harry's fall, "There are her two feet, still sticking out from under your buttocks."

Harry let out a startled cry before scrambling out of the nice padding under his bum that turned out to be a dead gnome. "Morgana's tits! I'm so sorry! It's an accident, I swear! And what are you thanking me for?" He yelled while staring wide-eyed at the flattened corpse. A couple hours ago he was just informed that he was destined to murder or to be murdered; and here he was, a couple hours later, with already one more death under his belt. Literally.

"I am the Good Gnome of the Gnorth, Glinda." She said with a curtsy. "And the one you slayed is the Nasty Gnome of the East, Nessarose. Too long have she reigned over our clansmen with her wicked way. She had turned her back on our Gnomish tradition and fashioned herself a terrible name that started with the letter N. Every good Gnome will tell you that a proper Gnomish name should start with the letter G. Doing otherwise is the ultimate betrayal to our race."

"I... see." Harry said slowly, uncertain if Glinda was serious or not.

Glinda the Good Gnome seemed overjoyed. "Wonderful wizard," she started, eager to return the favour. "Is there anything us grateful gnomes can do for your good deed?"

Harry decided to take advantage of this situation. No matter how bizarre it was. "I want to go back to Hogwarts. It's my home." He said, already had enough adventure for the day.

"Done." Glinda said, pleased that she was able to fulfil Harry's request easily. "See the pair of Ruby Slippers the Nasty Gnome is wearing on her feet? You can have them. Wear them and click your heels three times while chanting the magical words 'there is no place like home'."

Harry inspected the Ruby Slippers still on the dead gnome's feet wearily. They look obnoxiously red and glittery. "Are you sure this is the only way?"

The Good Gnome smiled brilliantly at our hero and replied, "Of course."

"Fine." Harry sighed and pried the pair of extremely feminine footwear off the corpse. Nothing in his life was easy. He shook his head in distaste and put on those glitter-covered slippers, a small part of him secretly relieved that they somehow magically adjust themselves to his feet.

Harry refused to admit that he looked good in red, or the fact that the glitters made him feel pretty.

Click, click, click. "There is no place like home."

And then he was gone.

* * *

"I don't think I'm in Gnome country anymore!" Harry looked around and wondered out loud, "But I don't think I'm in Hogwarts either. Where is this place?"

Instead of taking him back to Hogwarts, the Ruby Slippers had decided to bring him in front of a battered old farm house in the middle of nowhere. He saw miles and miles of flat land and yellow grass. The grey sky overhead was stormy and depressing.

"You are in Kansas." Said a soft voice as the person come out from the farm house. She was a very beautiful woman in her early twenties, although her hourglass figure and athletic build suggested she looked mature for her age. Her hair was a rich shade of dark brown with strands of golden highlight and gentle curls, and her eyes was the colour of chocolate with specks of green, so it's probably safe to say it was more like mint chocolate. She had a delicate feature and an unusually pale complexion that somehow made her look exotic. The complex patterns of light blue tattoo on her forehead that extended all the way down to her exposed shoulders and arms seemed to be letting out an ethereal glow. We could go more into describing what exactly the woman looked like, but that seemed to be a major waste of time. Moving on.

Harry tried not to ogle, but he failed spectacularly.

"Nice shoes." The woman commented with a quirked eyebrow. Have I mentioned the shape of her eyebrows? It was exquisite.

Our hero squirmed uncomfortably under the woman's gaze. "Hi." That was all Hary was able to say. Considering he was caught wearing a pair of glittering red slippers by the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life, he was doing pretty well.

The woman seemed to be very used to people gawking at her, so she continued, "Name is Mary. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Harry nodded stupidly. He wondered if this woman were half-Veela because that's how beautiful she seemed to him. "Um, yeah. Hi, I'm Harry. I think I'm lost."

"Where do you need to get to?" Mary asked.

"Hogwarts. It's a school in Scotland."

Mary chuckled, "You are very lost, then. Why don't you come inside for some lemonade?"

Harry agreed lemonade would be a good idea.

"This lemonade is really _really_ good." Harry chugged down the glass and let out a satisfied sigh. Now that he thought about it, he hasn't had any food or drink all day.

"That slippers you're wearing is also really _really_ good. Any chance you can let me have them?" Mary gazed longingly at the Ruby Slippers. Maybe it's the magic infused in them, they simply looked gorgeous on Harry's hairy legs. Imagine how good they would look on her hairless ones. Have I mentioned how long and shapely her legs were?

Harry was alarmed by Mary's tone. "No, thank you. I think I better keep my footwear for myself. It's the only, well, marginally more reliable way for me to get home."

Mary thought for a second and proposed, "I'll give you a blow job if you let me have them..."

"DEAL!"

So Harry became a very happy boy for the next twelve minutes. At the end of the heavenly twelve minutes, Harry became a very sad boy.

"Ouch! You bit me!" Harry screamed in pain and hurled himself off the chair he was sitting on. Taking a good look at his bloodied little Harry in dismay, He grimaced and accused angrily, "Did you really have to use that much teeth? What are you, a vampire?"

"Well, technically..." Mary started her long, rambling explanation that meant very little to our hero. "My grandpa was a Vampire, and he impregnated my grandma, who at the time was still a human, and conceived my mother, who turned out to be half-Vampire, half-human. And then my mom married my dad, who turned out to be from a long line of shamanic Shapeshifter, and they had me. To make my life more complicated, I was chosen by the Goddess Nyx to be her High Priestess at a tender age of 14. Because of that I had to drop my study in med school to join the House of Night. See this tattoo on my face? It signifies my status. When I was 16 I had a summer fling with this hot guy down in Florida when I was working on my PhD, and the dude turned out to be a Lycan. You can see what a disaster that was. Long story short, I somehow contracted the Lycan strain. I guess you can say I'm a Nyx-blessed Hybrid."

Harry did not take in anything Mary just said. His whole focus was on his wounded little Harry, which was burning up while throbbing in excruciating pain. Much to Harry's horror, the crescent-shaped bite mark near the tip was starting to turn blue.

Mary examined the bite mark with great interest. "Wow. I think I unintentionally transferred Nyx's blessing to you. See that distinctive shape and colour? That's how you can tell. Maybe I gave you the Hybrid strain too. Isn't that weird?"

Harry hoped that it would go away with some ointment. It sounded worse than the Clap. Why oh why did he not use a condom?

"Can I have those slippers now?" Mary asked innocently.

Harry pulled his pants up and took off the Ruby Slippers. He hoped wherever the Plot Hole decided to drop him next, it better came with a well-stocked pharmacy.

* * *

A/N: That's why people need to avoid Mary Sue at all cost.


	5. I'll trade you This for the Head

Chapter 4: I'll trade you "This" for the "Head"

The wail of anguish Harry let out as the Plot Hole dropped him down on an enormous pile of gold was almost as ear-piercing as a Banshee's cry. Why? Because our hero landed on the mountain of Galleon crotch first. Keep in mind that scant minutes ago, Harry unfortunately contracted a painful… ailment from a stranger he barely knew. Getting hit right in his newly diseased manhood was probably comparable to getting hit by a dozen Crucios at the same time.

Harry doubled over and cradled his much abused family heirloom in his hands as he rolled down the mountain of gold. It took him a long time to finally get to the bottom.

"Who's there! Come out! I heard you!" Barked a gruff voice.

Harry struggled for another minute or two before he could make a trembly moan that made him sound like a boy soprano (although he felt more like a castrato at the moment). When the other person (goblin, as it turned out) found him, he was still crawling on the floor like an over-sized slug.

The goblin took a look at Harry's face and turned pale with shock. "Harry Potter! How… What are you doing here! You can't be here!"

Disoriented with pain and dizzy with fever from the STD… hmm, unusual ailment, Harry sat up slowly and squinted at the creature in front of him. He had lost his glasses somewhere during the tumble down the Galleon mountain, and the pain and fever made his already poor vision swim. Besides, all the goblins looked the same to him anyway. "Griphook?" Harry tried the only goblin name he knew.

Surprise, surprise. This goblin turned out to be the Griphook indeed. What's the chance of that?

Griphook stuttered and forced himself to regain his composure. After a moment of quick thinking, he grinned at the black-haired young wizard and said casually to him, "You are here for your inheritance, of course. You've delayed it long enough."

"My inheritance?" Harry asked dubiously. There was something off about this goblin. It was obvious the Plot Hole had placed him in a bank vault, but shouldn't Griphook go screaming for securities to haul Harry's thieving ass straight to jail? From what he had learned in Professor Binns' history lessons (which was all about goblin rebellions), goblins hate thieves as much as Flat-Earthers hate gravity. For Harry to show up mysteriously in a secured Gringott vault, it was a miracle that he was not killed on sight.

"Yes, and to settle your accounts, am I right?" Griphook was almost purring. His overly sweet voice reminded Harry of Uncle Vernon kissing up to important guests over his special dinner parties. He knew the little bugger was trying to cheat him.

Harry decided to play along. "Sure. Let's not waste time. I need to floo back to Hogwart after this."

The toothy grin on Griphook's face looked positively feral. He took out a small silver box from his pocket and unsheathed an obsidian dagger from his belt. "It won't take long. A drop of your blood on the box, please."

Harry held out his hand and let the goblin make a shallow cut on his palm. The drop of blood sank into the surface of polished silver without leaving a mark. Seconds later, the box glowed warmly and opened up. Griphook was almost salivating with greed when the box revealed a large brass key with triple blades and an ornate bow.

Griphook squinted and read the inscriptions on the bow of the key, "Potter, Black, Weiss, Pendragon..."

"Hang on a second!" Harry interrupted the goblin with a raised hand. "What are you reading?"

Griphook seemed extremely pleased with himself. "Why, the list of vaults you are the sole heir of, naturally. Don't interrupt me, I'm not done yet. Durmstrang, Reed, and Emry. That's all."

Harry's jaw hanged open in shock. "You've got to be kidding me! How am I the sole heir of all those vaults? Most of the names I've never even heard of!"

The helpful goblin simply shrugged and said, "Your mother was adopted."

"My mother was... What?" Harry repeated dumbly after Griphook. He needed some time to digest this piece of information. However, the more he thought about it, the angrier he became. "That means I'm not related to the Dursleys at all!"

Using the moment of confusion, Griphook suddenly dove at Harry and grabbed his still bleeding hand, forcing it on a piece of parchment. Before Harry realized what the goblin was doing, it was already too late. His bloody hand print on that unknown piece of parchment was all it took for the magic to take effect.

"What have you done!" Harry demanded. As naive as he was in regards to magical laws and contracts, it was common sense that pressing a bloody hand print on a piece of parchment without reading it first would be a very bad idea.

Griphook cackled in glee. "Stupid wizard! Now all of those vaults are mine! Mine! You own nothing but the cloth on your back, and you are about to spend the rest of your pathetic life in a mine as a slave labour for attempted robbery of our great goblin bank! Alarm! Alarm! Intruder! Thief!" The midget menace sounded the alarm as he ran for the door.

Deafening noises of air raid siren blared all around him. Harry panicked and did the only thing his muddled brain can think of - he chased after Griphook and tackled the little creature to the ground like a magic-less muggle.

In his state of panic, he failed to recognize how unnaturally fast and strong he had become after contracting the mysterious strand of magical STD.

Harry stared at Griphook's severed head in his hand (and the headless body he was stepping on at the moment) in absolute horror. What just happened? All he did was tackling the guy! He couldn't possibly cause this much damage! What was he made of? Wet tissue paper? How the hell did he manage to twist the poor creature's head clean off with his bare hands? Oh dear Merlin! He squashed a gnome with his back-side not long ago and just now he decapitated a goblin with his bare hands. What's next? Gutting a house elf with his pinky toe?

The vault door chose this moment to swing open. On the other side of the open door, an elderly goblin and a dozen goblin warriors gawked in disbelieve as our hero stood in the middle of the supposedly secured vault with a freshly severed goblin head still clenched in his hand, green goblin blood splattered all over the place.

Freaking out like he had never before, Harry reached for his wand and Plot Hole'd his way out of this bloody mess before any of the goblin warriors can set foot in the vault to arrest him for trespassing, attempted robbery, and murder.

* * *

Our much traumatized hero was catatonic when the Plot Hole left him in the middle of a well-lit dwarven cavern. If Harry were more responsive to his surroundings, he would have been impressed by the grandiose architecture dwarves were famous for. Occupying one side of the wall was a massive forge that almost took up half of the cavern. A long workbench was placed at the opposite end of the cavern, and the wall was lined with various weapons.

"What an obnoxious green! Did you slip and fall in a puddle of troll boggers? You look like a freshly picked toad... Whoa! Is that a goblin head in your hand?" A stocky dwarf wearing a leather apron stopped working and put down the hammer on the workbench. He whistled and nodded appreciatively at the severed head that was still dripping gooey, green goblin blood on the floor.

Harry stared at the dwarf blankly. In the back of his detached mind, he could tell that the dwarf was male, probably in his middle age judging by the red, braided, bushy beard that covered most of his upper body (female dwarves had smaller beards).

"Good work! Let me guess; cutting curse? No, no, no. The edge is to rugged. Blasting curse?"

Harry shook his head and cleared his throat. He didn't know why he felt like he need to answer his question. "I... I tackled him. His head just... came off. I didn't mean to kill him."

The dwarf's pair of slightly charred eyebrows raised up incredulously at Harry's confession. "You mean to tell me, young wizard, that you ripped this goblin apart with your bare hands?"

Even though the statement sounded absolutely ridiculous, it was exactly what happened. Harry nodded.

"Balrog's whip! Are you sure you are a wizard, not a short giant? What great strength you have! What's your name, young Goblin Slayer?"

Harry shuddered. He did not want to be remembered as a slayer of goblin. "Harry. Just Harry."

The dwarf smiled kindly and introduced himself. "I am Gyver, son of Angus. I am the Master Smith in our clan, so my brethren call me Master Gyver. It's good to make your acquaintance, Harry the Goblin Slayer."

"Just Harry." He could not stress that enough.

"What about Harry the Goblin Ripper? Goblin Be-header? Goblin Decapitator?"

Harry shook his head vigorously at each graphic suggestion. He could taste bile in his mouth. "Harry, son of James is fine."

Gyver the dwarf looked slightly disappointed, but he quickly recovered. "Harry, son of James, we shall celebrate your great feat today. Let me call upon my clansmen and we shall gather and drink to your bravery. This treacherous goblin's head shall be mounted on a pike with your name on a plaque, thus your name shall forever be known as Harry the Mighty Goblin Bane."

The last thing Harry wanted was for anyone to associate him with goblin killing. He did not want to be the Bane of anything! Can't he just be normal?

"Um, look. Why don't you keep the head? I don't want the fame anyway." Harry plopped the severed head down on the workbench. He was trying very hard not to look at its face. The sticky, squishy sound of goblin gore smearing on the wooden surface did not improve Harry's mood either.

"Really? You would let me keep your hard-earned trophy? That's entirely too generous of you! Please allow me to trade you for it, at least." Gyver dug out a small, metallic device from his pocket and handed it to Harry.

The device was as small as a knife handle, and it had a red outer shell made from an unknown material. It was decorated with dwarven runes inscribed on the polished shell in gold. Harry thought it was quite pretty. "What is this?" He asked.

"This device is of my own invention. It's a Dwaren Warrior Axe."

Harry frowned in confusion. "This doesn't look like an axe."

"Ah, perhaps the name is too misleading. Allow me to demonstrate." Gyver took the device from Harry and held it in his hand with his thumb pressing on top of the golden runes. "Axe." He commanded, and the small object morphed into a double-edged battle axe that was as wide as the Master Smith's broad shoulders.

"Very clever." Harry remarked.

Gyver beamed at Harry's compliment. "That's not all. Take a good look at this. Knife, hammer, saw, spear, scythe..." The device morphed quickly into each of the weapon the dwarf specified. The list of tools this device was capable of morphing into seemed endless. "... Bottle opener, screwdriver, scissors, nail file, lock-pick, tweezers, toothpick..."

After ten minutes, Master Gyver finally done listing most of the basic functions (not all, because he forgot about some of them) for this multi-purpose dwarven hand tool. Satisfied with his demonstration, the dwarf handed the device to Harry and asked, "So, Harry, son of James, since you declined my invitation for the feast and parade, what do you plan to do next? Wrestle a troll to submission? That should be more challenging than dismembering a goblin."

Good question. Harry never planned to go on this bizarre journey in the first place, but now, the boy hero realized that he could not go back to Hogwart, the place he considered his home for the last five years. He was definitely a most wanted criminal in Wizarding Britain by now, maybe only second to the Dark Wanker, for breaking into a Gringott vault and killing a goblin in a very messy way. Knowing the Ministry's low opinion on him, Fudge would personally toss him in Azkaban to rot for the rest of his life. Objectively speaking, Azkaban was exactly where he belonged for the bloody murder he committed.

There was no place on Earth he could go now.

For the first time in his life, Harry was truly lost.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was a firm believer of priority; for example, the Greater Good should come before any individual's need. It would be anarchy without order; it would be chaos without priority.

He was also a firm believer of Fate.

If a person's destiny was laid out by the stars, what use would it be for mere mortals to oppose the heavens?

Dumbledore let his tears silently streaked down his pale cheeks. It was time like this he would feel the full weight of his hundred and fifteen years of age. Sensing his great sorrow, his familiar Fawks started singing a melancholy phoenix song to lift his spirit. Alas, a song could not mend a heart that was shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Cruel Fate! Cursed Fate!" Taking one last pained look at his trashed office, Dumbledore moaned and buried his face in his trembling hands. "I ran out of lemon drops!"

* * *

A/N: I've read so many fics where Harry gained the goblins' friendship by showing them basic human decency or by speaking flawless Gobbledegook. I want to try something different this time.


End file.
